mon coeur
by alsoalsowik
Summary: "Jean," Sasha muttered, her voice heavy and thick with sleep, "Senna's up. And," she yawned, "it's your turn to get her."


"Jean," Sasha muttered, her voice heavy and thick with sleep, "Senna's up. And," she yawned, "it's your turn to get her."

"Mm, sweetheart, I think it's your turn," Jean replied. He was exhausted. Having a full-time job at the local newspaper and having a five month old? Not so good for sleep. Not that he didn't love his daughter, of course, she was the best thing that had happened to him since marrying Sasha. It was just that he was exhausted.

"Jeeaaan," his wife whined from her place curled into his side, "_please, just bring the baby in here_." As tired as he was, he knew she had to be even more so, what with taking care of Senna (who must've inherited Sasha's energy, because _damn_, she never seemed to want to sleep) all day while he was at work.

He untangled himself from Sasha's limbs and got out of the bed with a mumbled, "M'kay, be right back."

Jean walked down the hallway toward the nursery, hearing his daughter's cries as he got closer. Before opening her door, he paused at the wall of family photos that spanned from Jean and Sasha's first date all the way up to their wedding day, two years later. Then, there at the end, was Jean's favorite picture out of them all: Sasha holding Senna a few minutes after she had been born, hair stuck with sweat to her face and a tired smile on her lips. He smiled to himself and then pushed the door open.

Inside, Senna was crying loudly in her crib, eyes scrunched tightly together, kicking her feet. Jean reached down to cradle her in his arms, humming an old, French lullaby.

"Hey, baby... you hungry?" he whispered. "You wanna go see Mama? Or do you have a dirty diaper? 'Cause Daddy can fix that all by himself." He then set her down on the changing table and put a fresh diaper on.

"C'mon, _mon coeur_, let's go see Mama now," Jean said, resting her auburn head on his shoulder, exiting the nursery. He walked slowly, rocking Senna gently and rubbing circles into her back. When he entered his bedroom, he saw Sasha resting on some pillows, ready to feed the baby.

"Here you go, babe." Jean murmured, handing Senna to his wife. Sasha cooed at her daughter and kissed her forehead before lifting up her nightshirt (one of Jean's) and held the baby to her breast. She leaned back against the pillows and cradled Senna in the crook of her elbow.

"You can go back to sleep, if you want."

"Nah, I'm okay."

"Pervert."

"It's not sexual," Jean started, earning a pointed look from his wife, "well, okay, maybe a _little_… But the real reason I like to watch you feed Senna is because it looks so natural. You make everything look beautiful, mon amour."

"Mm, I love it when you talk French to me," Sasha smiled. "But seriously," she continued, "I don't want to keep you up… I know how hard you work during the week, and you deserve to get some sleep, too."

"Sash, don't worry about me, 'kay?" he replied. She nodded in response. The two of them relaxed on the bed, watching over their daughter as she continued to feed. Finally, after about half an hour, she pulled away from Sasha with heavy lidded eyes. Sasha pulled her nightshirt back down and handed Senna to her husband. "Hey," he yawned, "I'll burp her and put her back down, okay?"

"Alright," Sasha said, already snuggling down into the covers.

Jean cradled his daughter as he walked back towards her nursery, singing softly to her in French. Upon reaching her room, he grabbed a burping cloth from the changing table and sat down in the rocking chair next to the crib. Sitting down, Jean tossed the cloth over his shoulder, holding Senna with one arm and lightly beating her back with the other. After a few minutes, when it was clear she had burped (seriously, how did she burp that loud?), he felt sleep reaching out to him like a warm embrace. Holding his daughter against his chest, Jean felt his eyelids slip shut.

A few hours later, Sasha woke up shivering. "_Well, that's strange_," she thought. Usually, she would awake warm and curled into her husband's chest. Eyes darting around their bedroom, she realized Jean was missing. Panicking a little, Sasha sat up out of the bed, intent on finding him. She walked down the hallway, eyes scanning the empty house for a sign of her husband. When she reached the nursery, everything made sense. A hand covering her mouth to keep from audibly squeeing, Sasha ran for her phone.

Sneaking back into the room, Sasha snapped at least 10 pictures of Senna asleep on Jean (who was also adorably asleep)'s chest before going over to her husband and kissing his forehead.

"Hey," she smiled, "You wanna sleep in a real bed?"

"Mm hmm," Jean mumbled, careful not to jostle his daughter. He got up and laid her in the crib, walking to snake his arms around Sasha's waist. "So, how many pictures did you take?"

"Just a few."

"Sure, if eleven or twelve is a 'few'."

"Actually, it was only ten this time."

"Send 'em to me?"

"Of course," Sasha said, resting her head in the crook of Jean's shoulder. "Want to go back to bed?"

Jean just nodded, pulling his wife back into the hallway, blowing a kiss to Senna and whispering, "Love you, _mon coeur_."


End file.
